


Tear the satin up, baby

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Rich Lance (Voltron), Trans Lance (Voltron), bad boy keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15828846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Keith’s eyes scream danger-- sharp canines on tender skin, collarbone kissed blue-- and Lance is too attracted to it to feel the weight of a wealthy and purist lineage tumbling off his shoulders when Keith crowds him against the wall.





	Tear the satin up, baby

“Listen,” Lance says, turning around to face Keith in a flutter of satin that encases his body down to perfection. 

The fineness of his clothes flow with the easiness with which Lance’s father had stacked bill after bill on the counter of the most exorbitant store in the country, and Lance owns it. Lets the fabric drip down his body as if it was molten gold and stands proudly in it, no matter how ruffled it is or how he can’t seem to breathe just right under Keith’s gaze. 

The words frizzle inside his mouth weakly before dying out; tongue too busy sweeping along his lower lip when his eyes catch sight of the tightness of Keith’s pants, the knee-weakening leather that breathes its scent right onto the back of Lance’s throat. Keith’s eyes scream danger-- sharp canines on tender skin, collarbone kissed blue-- and Lance is too attracted to it to feel the weight of a wealthy and purist lineage tumbling off his shoulders when Keith crowds him against the wall. 

Hands in his front pockets, an arched brow and he’s the spitting image of a predator that knows the prey is already at his feet. That knows that Lance is opening his legs to make room for him because he is choking for the outline of Keith’s cock pressing against his inner thigh, not because he is scared of him. 

“You are not taking me to bed,” Lance says, voice steady as Keith’s fingers spread over his thigh and squeeze with a low groan. There’s a stutter and Lance bites his lip, swallows it and ignores the steady pulse of heat in his pubic bone when Keith falls forward to press them together. His hips buck under the pressure, and he denies it. “Ever.”

But then Keith gives him that devilish smirk; the one that makes his gaze too dark, too toxic to say no to. The one that got Lance to down two glasses of vodka, tongue at Keith’s fluttering pulse in a public restroom and spread himself on spit-slicked fingers with the desperation of a well-trained whore and not of the successor of a billionaire company. 

Lance shivers at the memory and wants to punch Keith for it. For his playful looseness. For the way he wants Keith to tear his stupid clothes to shreds and dirty him up with his mouth. 

“Who said it had to be on a bed?” Keith whispers, all low and sex in between teeth, and grinds into the dip of Lance’s thigh like a threat.


End file.
